


The Traveler & The 'Chosen'

by Thornbrier



Category: Mormonism - Fandom, The Book of Mormon (Latter-day Saints)
Genre: Curses, Gen, Genocide, God - Freeform, Hate Speech, Lamanites, Mormonism, Nephites, Prophets, Religion, The Book of Mormon - Freeform, Warmongering, Zoramites, jesus christ - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornbrier/pseuds/Thornbrier
Summary: The Traveler enters a dimension where the events of the Book of Mormon are coming to a close. He listens in as Gideon rallies support to wipe out the Nephites. If I recall correctly most of this is adapted from the books of Helaman and Nephi 3 & 4.The Traveler is an antagonist in my Watcher's Record series.





	The Traveler & The 'Chosen'

A man walked into the bustling village of stone and wood buildings. Though, to be fair, for their level of waste management technology this was likely a large city. Major stone roadways brought caravans of wilting produce from farms as far as the eye could see.

Despite his odd appearance, his pale skin and top hat, his twin tailed grey woolen coat and golden pocket watch, none of the loin cloth and toga wearing people took much notice of him. It's not that they didn't see the traveler, they most certainly did, for true invisibility was quite hard to achieve, and wiping minds was even harder. But as soon as they did look upon him, they knew, just absolutely knew, that it wasn't their business. His S.E.B. field generator was working perfectly allowing him to observe the local culture without impacting them.

Well, perhaps a little. Some over curious fashionista might remember the clothes well enough to influence the textile industry, but that was a bit of a long shot and didn't really matter in the long run. And perhaps it would be an improvement from the many cords everyone wore, each ending in a variety of common tools of their trades. Those who wore togas had several objects sewn to the cloths. the traveler contemplated. He wrote in his notebook that these objects must have considerable significance for so many to wear them, and yet, every toga wearer seemed to bear quite a different assortment of sewn on items.

The stalls in the central market seemed strange as well. It took the traveler some time to figure out what was wrong. Merchants barked out their wears in the hustle and bustle just as any bazzar he'd seen before. There were muggers and pickpockets as he expected, but even the pickpockets were odd. No one would hold anything in their hands for more than a couple of second, and when they did, they tried to ensure there was a solid surface below the item. The traveler noted that dropping items appeared to be a major taboo.

The traveler made his way to what appeared to be a community center, a tavern, a mead hall, perhaps part brothel. It wasn't quite clear, perhaps a mixture of each. Dark skinned men of the village, er, city, were gathered, listening to a fervent speaker. Meanwhile barely clothed women clung to various warriors and scholars in the crowd, pouring drinks and feeding them small grape like fruits from large wooden plates. When the women returned to the serving area with their empty plates each carried them with both arms, holding secure with their hands as if the plate were still full of the colored spheroids. Anyone so encumbered went unmolested by any of the seated men.

The traveler sat on a log at a table in the darkest corner of the room, and noted that the wooden floors appeared surprisingly clean. No waitress came to offer him anything, each believing someone else was responsible for it.

The speaker at the center stage sat down and another took his place. He was a remarkably dark skinned man, almost pitch black despite the ring of fire surrounding him. He had the countenance of one who had both studied intensely his whole life and fought just as much, his body large in stature, and his mind sharp and cunning. When he gazed out upon the crowed his eyes pierced to the core and a deathly silence fell upon the room. When he spoke, he did so softly, yet with a force that made every word ring clear in the ears even to the least syllable.

"Brothers. My brothers. I have gathered you, heads, fathers, and generals. Leaders of every house in our lands. I shall not repeat to you the crimes of our former brethren to the north. Lemaki has orated them well already." He gestured to the previous speaker to the sound of the crowd softly grunting and nodding their heads in Lemaki's direction. "No. No, today I call you to war for another purpose. You have all been taught the preaching of their abominable faith, and you rightly reject it. But what if I told you, that they are right?" He paused and looked around. The warriors and scholars looked to each other, none daring to make a sound as they silently questioned where he was going with this.  
"Yes. Yes, I know. The idea that those pale monsters to the north could be right about anything turns a knot in my guts too. But I propose that they are, indeed, the Chosen people of their great spirit. This spirit, who thinks himself so important as to call himself God, as if there were no other gods. This God of death, destruction, pestilence, and cursing. Upon this God's birth he spat fire across the sky to light up the night as bright as the day for the entire night. His messengers shatter prisons and wear a cloak of fire. Upon his death he sent earthquakes, crushing entire cities, drowning others, and still more were split in two by chasms and swallowed up into the earth. The sign of this Gods death was to kill an uncountable number of our brethren." His shoulders slumped as he remembered the fallen.

"But why? Why did this God kill so many of our people? Was it because of our crimes against him or his Chosen people? No. No, we had nothing to do with it. Our brethren died along side the Chosen because the so called 'wickedness' and 'abominations' which the Chosen committed against their God's laws. This is why we must wipe out the Chosen ones.

"I have studied their records. It was only three hundred years ago that their God came to this land in a pillar of fire, preaching to our ancestors in the rubble of our cities. In that fear our people left our gods and joined with theirs, but we were not Chosen. As the cities were rebuilt and the memory of fear faded, our ancestors returned to our gods, our great guiding spirits. Our many children grew strong as the spirits watched over our orgies and protected our families. But when the Chosen started to 'sin' against their God, then the curses came upon us all.

"The Chosen no longer protected the weak and fatherless, their family codes rendered single women destitute and starving in the streets. Even our spirits tell us this is wrong, and will punish those who do so. But when the Chosen do it their God is not satisfied with teaching the wrong doer a lesson, no, he curses the land, punishing everyone. Did you know that this is why we cannot let anything be covered by the dirt without losing it? We are so encumbered because the Chosen ones couldn't take care of their own people."

He chuckled softly, the shadows of the ring of fire around him playing off his face to create a most sinister smile. "But it doesn't end there. Oh, no, my brothers. Can anyone tell me the punishment for questioning the word of your great spirit, or even, for worshiping a different spirit?" He looked around until one man stood up. "Yes? Joram, librarian of the Zoramites. Worshiper of the great black crow who brings us storms to replenish our fields. What punishment is there for turning to a different great spirit?"

Joram turned from side to side, ensuring he had the gaze of the room, then addressed the central speaker. "There is none, Gideon. Save that the spirit will withdraw their protections from you and hope your new spirit will protect you as well as they did." Gideon, the traveler thought as Joram returned to his seat with a bow, ensuring none of his toga's ornaments snagged on the table.

Gideon nodded, tenting his fingers in front of his lips before sweeping his arms down dramatically. "AND YET! When the Chosen of God choose to worship our spirits, their punishment is not to be cut off from the Chosen. Ohhoho, no. That would be too simple for their God. For the God of destruction and fire, he must curse everyone. This is the crime for which our tools and precious things have become slippery, this is why we cannot keep hold of our possessions even in our own hands. And yet, this God of bloodshed has allowed us to retain the grip of our weapons."

A voice echoed through the room, asking about the wilted crops, but no one would ever know it was that of the traveler. His curiosity had been piqued and he had his own suspicions as to the answer.

"Indeed, brother. It was this God who cursed the land that no crops would grow in good health. And why? Because of the corruption of the Chosen. Their judges sit upon thrones of wealth, each acting like a haughty king of his own domain. The lawyers bring them clear cases and they drag out the proceedings so they can charge more and more, only to let loose the most vile of criminals that they might commit crimes once more and return for more trials. This is the state of law among the Chosen, and their God punishes everyone with poor crops for that sin."

"Don't you see, my brothers? Let us take up the only tools their God will let us hold and use them on his Chosen people. According to their own records their God will not protect them in the state of wickedness they are in now. Let us leave their God no reason to curse our land and our precious things. This is not a matter of revenge or justice for their many crimes against us, and as you heard from Lemaki, they are many. No, this must be done to defend our families from the punishments that the Chosen bring down upon us all. Now is the time to strike, now is the time to wipe them out."

Many grumbles echoed through the room. "Generals, you know this will not be easy. The Chosen hold the city of Desolation at the narrow pass. For ten years they have continued to stockpile weapons in violation of our treaty, and our king has done nothing. No. No, I do not suggest we overthrow the king. But if he will not raise an army against the Chosen so that our children can live without these curses, then I suggest we do so ourselves." Gideon bowed his head solemnly. "I make an end of my speaking to you tonight."

With that, he stepped out of the ring of fire and disappeared into the darkness as the crowd stood and cheered enthusiastically. Clapping did not appear to be a standard form of celebration among these people, but they did make almost as much noise in hoots, howls, grunts, and slapping each other's exposed backs.

The Traveler stood and withdrew from the chamber. "Hmm. I'll need to remember this dimension if I ever have need of a savage, yet intelligent army. This Gideon fellow sounds perfect for throwing up against the Church of Vontrovor, should the need arise." A display floated out of his pocket and he perused the documents. "Oh, my. His army will kill over 200 thousand in a single day? Well, good to know he succeeds in wiping out those terrible Chosen, the Nephites."

The Traveler curtly pulled down the brim of his hat and seemed to step out of the world in just three steps.


End file.
